


Fireside

by Fadesintothewest



Series: Tales of the Years of the Sun [3]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-01
Updated: 2015-03-01
Packaged: 2018-03-15 19:13:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3458660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fadesintothewest/pseuds/Fadesintothewest
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fingon and Maedhros out in the wilderness by a fire.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fireside

**Author's Note:**

> This story wanted to get out so I wrote it rather quickly. Hope its enjoyable nevertheless.  
> unbeta'd. Apologies for the mistakes I miss.

Fingon put more kindle on the fire. The chill in the air grew sharper, but the stars above were clear, their light unencumbered. Maedhros drew his eyes from the stars above to watch Fingon place the kindle just so, tucking larger pieces here and there. Fingon’s fires were the finest. Indeed they reminded Maedhros of Fingon: beacons of light in the night that warded off the cold chill, long lasting, patient and warm, so warm. Out here in the wilderness, the vastness of Endórë, Fingon was in his element.

 

“What?” Fingon questioned, without turning his attention away from the fire he was stoking, conjuring the flames to grow larger. Facing away from Maedhros, Fingon wore a happy, silly grin. He enjoyed taking care of Maedhros though he knew Maedhros was far from that broken body he found hanging on the cliff. But such simple things, such simple tasks soothed Fingon, allowed him to feel the small pieces of joy that sustained him.

 

Maedhros crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back on his pack, his long legs stretched out in front of him. Though silence stretched between Fingon’s question and Maedhros’ yet to materialize answer, it was a comfortable space. Maedhros relished it, the lack of voices, the cackle of the fire, the sounds of night creatures scurrying about. His eyes explored Fingon’s form, from the long single plait that ran down his back to his well-worn leather boots. Beneath the tunic, Maedhros watched the hint of muscle ripple as Fingon moved about the fire. Though the fire was sufficient, Fingon’s jealous vigil over it was like a meditation for Fingolfin’s eldest. Maedhros’ gaze shot back up towards Fingon’s face. No longer was he watching him with ease, a discomfort had come over Maedhros, a reminder of the ice that Fingolfin’s host traversed. Maedhros brows furrowed, his back stiffening, reminding him of Fingon’s own nightmares.

 

Breaking the silence between them and guessing Maedhros’ thoughts, Fingon soothed, “The fire is healing. It reminds me we endured.” Maedhros grunted, not happy with Fingon’s offer. Fingon looked up at Maedhros, breaking his gaze away from the tendrils of fire, “It reminds me that I am bound to fire, bound to its fate.” Maedhros raised an eyebrow. Fingon turned his face back to the fire, feeling its heat hot on his skin. “Doom shall have us yet, but I will not succumb to it Maitimo,” Fingon replied, though his voice a mere whisper, the steel behind the words was evident in the square of his jaw, the way his lips pressed together.

 

Always the sorcerer, Fingon’s words eased Maedhros. Maedhros pulled his arms and hand behind his head to more comfortably watch Fingon. The fire was lighting Fingon’s profile in such a way that his face was rendered shadow, but what a beautiful profile! Maedhros grunted again, this time content. Fingon felt Maedhros eyes on him, sensed that he had put Maedhros at ease. Fingon was the only one who could so easily mollify Maedhros, lighten his darker tones. It wasn’t that Maedhros was a man of darkness. Just that there was a dark edge to him, a shadow that lingered in corners of his mind, more than the Oath.

 

Pivoting towards Maedhros, Fingon gifted Maedhros an impudent grin; the type that he knew undid Maedhros. Maedhros grunted once more, this time throwing a rock that was within his grasp at Fingon. Fingon caught the rock raising a provocative eyebrow at Maedhros. Maedhros allowed a lazy grin to spread on his face, resting his head in his arms. Fingon straightened, knowing Maedhros was watching him intently. Fingon reached his hand down to his crotch to adjust the large bulge covered by his light trousers, his eyes fixed on Maedhros whose eyes traveled down to watch Fingon’s ministrations. “That’s better,” Fingon pronounced, pretending indifference of the charged atmosphere. Maedhros threw his head back laughing as Fingon approached him. “What?” Fingon responded feigning innocence, dropping beside Maedhros, repeating his initial question.

 

Maedhros finally spoke, falling into speech reserved for courtly matters: “Thou lovest thy cock too much, my lord!”

 

“Do I now?” Fingon swung himself around sitting to face Maedhros, his long legs bumping into Maedhros.

 

Maedhros sat up, crossing his legs. “My lord _lords_ his big cock, knowing too well its power,” he retorted.

 

Fingon threateningly leaned into Maedhros. “And pray tell what power does _this_ lord’s cock possess?” Fingon spoke, his voice a shade darker, hungrier. His hands had traveled back down to his crotch.

 

“Oh dear, see here?” Maedhros answered, watching as Fingon grabbed his cock in a show of power. “See how it grows, it grows in power indeed?” Maedhros hummed, licking his lips, allowing himself to lean gently into Fingon. Maedhros knew Fingon’s control was breaking. Maedhros ghosted a kiss on Fingon’s neck to tip him over the edge.

 

“Fuck it!” Fingon exclaimed, flipping Maedhros on his back.  Pinning Maedhros’ hands on the ground above him, Fingon growled, “This lord wants to fuck thee mercilessly. What say you?”

 

Maedhros’ breath shuddered, his body involuntarily reacting to the feel of Fingon on top of him. Breaking out of Fingon’s hold, Maedhros managed to pull down Fingon’s trousers while Fingon hurriedly pulled off his own tunic and Maedhros’ trousers and tunic. “Fuck me my lord and I shall sing thee thy praises,” Maedhros replied, his voice breaking in need.

 

Fingon was impatient. His fingers quickly found their way into Maedhros, hastily readying him. “I want to hear thee sing my praises _now,”_ Fingon demanded.

 

A moan erupted out of Maedhros as Fingon penetrated him. Their lovemaking was fast and hard, such was their need after too much time apart. Time would come for calmer lovemaking, but they needed to get this ravaging out of the way in order to sit and speak and not have their unmet needs muddle their thinking. Their coupling was like the setting around them, instinctual and raw, stripped and animalistic. Out in the wilderness of Endórë, away from prying eyes and ears, they could loose themselves entirely.

 

“Oh fuck,” Fingon moaned, “fuck, I cannt…”

 

“Don’t stop!” Maedhros begged, his need almost reaching his personal pinnacle of desire.

 

Fingon pressed his face into Maedhros’ neck, his breathing heavy with exertion. He gritted his teeth, trying to keep himself from exploding inside Maedhros, but he was loosing himself over to the other side of passion, tumbling over that cliff, into the free fall. Crying out, Fingon’s body stiffened, his body released the pent up desires, all the waiting, all the dreaming, for this moment. Fingon’s hand did not stop pumping, feeling Maedhros’ own hand over his, urging Fingon on. All at once, Fingon felt Maedhros convulse under him, Maedhros’ own need manifesting its sweet sticky substance. Fingon allowed himself to fall onto his back besides Maedhros. Both men lay besides each other for a moment catching their breath. After a time, Fingon allowed his hand to feel Maedhros' seed on his stomach that was beginning to crust over with dirt and dried sweat. “Eru I missed you,” Fingon whispered.

 

Maedhros laughed breathlessly. “If I were more impressionable I’d think you'd only missed fucking me.”

 

Fingon leaned on his side, reaching his hand out to pass Maedhros’ hair between his fingers. “But I do miss fucking you,” Fingon offered, earning a grunt from Maedhros who was enjoying the feel of his body splayed out on the earth, entirely free of stress, his muscles relaxed, his body grounded: whole.

 

Looking thoughtful, Maedhros angled his face towards Fingon, unwilling to give up his comfortable bed of dirt and grass. “I’d sing your praises Fingon, but I’d rather you gift us with your voice.”

 

Fingon chuckled quietly. He was tired. Shifting closer to Maedhros Fingon reached over to his pack bringing it closer so he could unhook his harp. And so Fingon sang to Maedhros, as the two lay nude and unburdened on the soft earth of Endórë. The fire roared on, its tendrils dancing to the melody of the harp, but soon enough, the sounds of Endórë reclaimed the night. The fire died down. The harp was laid aside. And two elves slept deeply, the light of the moon like a blanket upon them.

 

 


End file.
